Looking Glass Rock — Pisgah National Forest

December 12, 2025

A warm, clear day in the middle of December is reason enough to head into the woods—especially when it’s a brief gift between cold fronts, and a sharp contrast to winter back home in Washington.

Looking Glass Rock rises above Pisgah National Forest as a broad granite dome, reached by a steady climb through forest before the trail steepens and spills out onto bare stone. The first miles pass gently, the last half mile rocky and rooted, pulling you upward toward open sky.

It was cold at the trailhead, but the sun worked quickly. By late morning I was hiking in a t-shirt, something that still felt faintly improbable for December. I passed a couple dozen people on the way up, all clearly drawn out by the same rare weather window before temperatures dropped hard overnight.

The summit opens in every direction. Layers of forest stretch toward the Blue Ridge Parkway, with John Rock visible across the valley. I sat in the sun longer than planned, eating a sandwich and letting the warmth linger. The kind of pause that feels earned.

Just before reaching the top, I crossed paths with another hiker carrying a camera. The conversation began the usual way—what are you shooting with? Nikon and Canon, respectively—followed by the expected, joking expressions of brand loyalty. From there, it unfolded easily. We talked about photography, hiking, astrophotography, and the shared feeling that time outside is less a hobby than a necessity.

We stayed on the summit talking for an hour, then walked much of the way back down together. We spoke about risk, solitude, and the ways we both tend to wander—often alone—into places like this. It was an easy, unforced connection, one that didn’t ask to be anything more than what it was. At the trailhead, we parted without exchanging plans, and that felt exactly right.

There were few visible impacts from recent storms along this trail, though nearby roads still show the marks of Hurricane Helene. Along the forest road, a large prescribed burn has left the ground and lower trunks charred—a stark sight now, but one that will hopefully reduce the severity of future fires.

I didn’t take many photographs on this hike. A handful stood out—broad views from the summit, looking in different directions, each carrying a slightly different light and mood. Sometimes that’s enough.